This week we are remembering America’s Independence Day. It is a time of reflection on the suffering and sacrifice of our foremothers and forefathers. At this time of the year I like to re-read our Declaration of Independence.

It is truly breath-taking in love and care for this new land and, at the same time, truly humble before God. I often wonder as I read the beginning of the second paragraph if these guys had any idea of the foundations they were laying for you and me:

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed,—That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness.”

About 14 years ago I was taking care of my grandson, Brian. I was pushing him in the tree swing in their back yard. Always eager for adventure and excitement, he wanted to be pushed higher and higher.

"Granddad, push me up to the branches."

"Granddad push me up to the sky."

"Granddad, push me up to God."

We finished the swing and as he hopped out of the seat, I asked him if he went up to the branches.

"Yep!"

Did you go up to the sky?  "Yep!"

Did you go up to God? "Yep!"

"And what did God say?"

"He said you are going to see him soon. You're getting old."

I would not have wanted to have been Moses for any fortune offered. His unenviable task was to lead a frequently rebellious people into a whole new way of living, believing, and thinking. The desert era was vital for the formation of the People of God, but living through it was not an easy time.

We need to recall that when Moses fled Egypt as a very young man he found refuge in the household of Jethro, a priest of Midian. We do not know what the Midianites believed nor whom they worshiped, but Moses married a daughter of Jethro, Zipporah, while he lived and worked with the clan.

At some point after his return to Egypt, Moses had sent back home this pagan wife and their two sons, probably for safety while he tangled with Pharaoh. In the midst of the desert period, in Exodus 18, Grandfather Jethro brings Moses' family back to him. Moses greets the older man, invites him into his tent and tells him the whole story of what God has done thus far. Jethro is so impressed he offers a sacrifice to Moses' God who, he admits, is superior to his.

This week I was in Memphis, Tennessee, to speak to the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship in its annual assembly. I had been to Memphis years ago and have driven through the city several times, but this was the first time I ever spent a few days in old downtown Memphis, which is, incidentally, a very attractive urban area, with lots of monuments and lovely buildings.

But the thing that struck me most forcibly was the way the local tourist industry has wrapped itself around Elvis. There were statues and statuettes of Elvis on every hand—gold ones, white ones, black ones, and red-white-and-blue ones. It reminded me of what a celebrity culture we have become.

I realize that's not really new. Andrew Jackson was a huge celebrity, and Teddy Roosevelt and Babe Ruth, and, in a way, Mark Twain. But the ubiquity of Elvis posters and statuary made me think of Marilyn Monroe, MLK Jr., Che Guevara, Whoopi Goldberg and all the other faces one sees on T-shirts, posters, coffee mugs, and other touristy paraphernalia.

I recently read a quote by Barbara Crafton, Episcopal priest and prolific writer and retreat leader. She was speaking about the difficult topic of forgiveness, but she could have been referring to any thorny issue on the spiritual journey, anything that asks a lot of us, or that is unclear, or seems fruitless.

She wrote... “You have help... God has lines in this play. The spiritual life is not a project you do all by yourself that you present to God. It’s a thing that God gives to you.”

Then, she concluded with: “The whole of spiritual life is discovering this is true.”

Well, here I sit with my good buddy the blank computer screen! So much potential! When I stop staring at the blank computer screen, I find that my eyes usually come to rest on a wooden chalice and bread plate that I have on my shelf.

There is a definite feeling of intimacy with these two items—the wooden plate and the chalice. The wood is a kaleidoscope of soft brown, earth tones. There is softness, a gentle invitation, to come and taste and see that God is good. The wood lacks the bright, reflecting luster which epitomizes the silver or golden communion sets that are familiar to many of us.

It is impossible to see my image in this wooden set. Instead, my attention does not rest on me; my attention is always and only on the gift—the bread and the wine—the body and blood of Christ; God’s gift of salvation to you and me.

This past weekend I performed a wedding on Long Beach Island, at the New Jersey Shore. It was a very tender, simple service at the Spray Beach Chapel, a quaint little wood frame  building built in 1895, and just a block from the ocean. With the windows open you can hear the rolling waves.

It was the second marriage for both of them. As the bride put it, "we are not 22 anymore, we bring some history and a lot of hope for what will be."

I thought a great deal about this. Why do marriages end; and what can we do to keep them alive and well?

There is no biblical drama quite so breathless as the Exodus from Egypt, the plague-weary Pharaoh finally telling the hated foreigners to leave, even though he was losing his entire building trade. He would regret it, of course, but for the moment let us be part of that midnight flight from the land of slavery.

You can sense what has gone on in every household. Portable baggage is readied; families have gathered to eat their last meal in a "strange land," a meal that would be repeated annually for the rest of time; and then the order is given: "Go."

But Pharaoh soon changes his mind and sends his armies in pursuit, down dark roads lit only by the full moon, to the edge of that body of water we call the Red Sea, a swampy morass that the Israelites crossed at ebb tide with Moses praying with outstretched arm as the panting families hurried by. The scene is incredibly vivid and real. Just add the pursuing Egyptians with their narrow-wheeled chariots stuck in the mud as the tide turns, and you have deliverance.